


as there are moments in time

by abovetheruins



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Fluff, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:15:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8818213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: Love in all its forms.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I finished something! It might be utter crap, but I finished something! Inspired by [this](http://pleisetsky.tumblr.com/post/153965737824/dazzai-viktuuri-types-of-love) Yuri!! On Ice gifset.

**philia; friendly love**  
  
“Cook, what are we doing?” Archie’s usual exasperation with him was tempered by a sadness that pricked at Cook’s heart, and his fingers flexed around Archie’s wrist so he wouldn’t do something hasty like pull the kid into a hug.  
  
He knew that would probably be a bad idea – there was a furrow between Archie’s brows and a tightness to his eyes that belied how upset he was, and though Cook’s hands ached to do something, to clasp Archie’s shoulder or neck like he’d taken to doing lately and pull him into a friendly embrace, he was wary of invading Archie’s personal space in any way that might have been unwelcome. The kid’s shoulders were drawn up tight, his lips twisted as he followed Cook, shrinking away from any stagehands or members of the crew that they passed. Every aspect of his body language screamed _back off_.  
  
He hadn’t jerked his wrist from Cook’s hold, though, so that was something.  
  
“Just humor me, Arch,” Cook said, throwing the boy what he hoped was a reassuring grin. Archie’s eyes glanced over his face and then fell to the floor, unconvinced or uncaring, and Cook sighed, worry prickling at his skin like a bad itch. He hated seeing Archie this way, had hated having to sit there on live television and watch as Archie stood out on stage, stiff and uncomfortable as he waited for Ryan to announce his results.  
  
“We’ll be late to dinner,” Archie mumbled, a last ditch attempt at waylaying whatever Cook had planned, but Cook shook his head.  
  
“They can start without us just this once, Archie,” he said, pulling the boy out onto the darkened stage. The few crew members loitering around barely gave them a second glance, busy shutting down the building for the night, and Cook led Archie to the center, releasing his wrist in favor of falling a little gracelessly to the floor.  
  
Archie watched him sprawl back on the stage, and Cook was glad to see a hint of amusement in his young friend’s face as he tucked his hands beneath his head. “Cook, what are you doing?”  
  
“Getting comfortable,” Cook returned cheekily, patting the ground beside him. “C’mon, Arch. Don’t leave me hanging.”  
  
For a moment Archie looked like he might protest, but an added, “C’mon, Arch. Please?” had him giving in to Cook’s whims, reclining back on the stage with a sigh, close enough that their shoulders brushed as he shifted.  
  
“I know what you’re doing,” he said, after a few minutes of silence.  
  
“Oh?” Cook asked, gaze fixed on the theatre’s high ceiling.  
  
“You’re trying to take my mind off of – “ Cook caught a glimpse of Archie’s hand waving out of the corner of his eye. “ – everything.”  
  
“Is that what I’m doing?” Cook asked, surprised.  
  
“Cook.” The hint of a whine in Archie’s voice made Cook smile, and he tilted his head, immeasurably glad to see a familiar hint of exasperation written across the boy’s features. “I’m fine, okay? Really.”  
  
Cook took a chance and nudged their shoulders together, grateful that Archie allowed the contact despite the unhappy slant of his mouth. “It’s okay if you aren’t, you know,” he said.  
  
Archie shook his head. “I’m not the one going home, though,” he said, and Cook could tell by the waver in his voice that Archie was trying harder to convince himself than anyone else. “I made it through, even after I – even after I choked on stage, in front of everyone, and – “ He trailed off, biting his lip and turning away, ashamed, and Cook rose up on his elbows, wanting to erase that look from Archie’s face.  
  
“Archie, you had a bad night, that’s all.” Archie opened his mouth, a hundred protests probably ready on his tongue, but Cook shook his head, stalling them. “Archie, listen to me. Yeah, you forgot some lyrics, but you know what? You kept going. You didn’t freeze up, you didn’t stop. You’re _good_ , Archie. You know you are. And you deserve to still be here. Right up until the end, if you want the truth.” He faltered, a little surprised at his own intensity, but it was the truth, and he had a gut feeling that Archie needed to hear it.  
  
Archie didn’t say anything, just studied Cook with a look the older man couldn’t decipher. Cook held his gaze nonetheless, hoping Archie could see how serious he was, that he wasn’t just spilling empty platitudes at the boy’s feet to try and make him feel better.  
  
“Cook?” Archie asked eventually, tilting his head in a show of thoughtfulness. “Why’d you bring me back out here?”  
  
Cook felt his lips tilt into a smile of their own accord. “You told me before that you felt more comfortable on stage than off it. I didn’t want that to change just because of one night.”  
  
Surprise filtered across Archie’s face, eyes widening and lips parting for a moment before they curved into a smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners, his shoulder shifting until it pressed against Cook’s.  
  
“You’re kind of sweet, Cook,” he said, and Cook laughed, feeling the tension bleed out of his shoulders as Archie relaxed against him.  
  
“Hey, keep that to yourself, Arch. I’ve got a reputation to uphold here.”  
  
  
 **ludus; playful love**  
  
Cook dropped to his knee as they approached the end of the catwalk, bowing at David’s feet like he’d been doing all tour. David used to be a little embarrassed by it – the fans got _really_ , um, enthusiastic when Cook did it, and sometimes those up close to the stage would wolf whistle or yell, making David kind of glad that the music was too loud for him to hear whatever they were saying. But he knew it was all in fun, just Cook being his usual goofy, sweet self, bowing at David’s feet like _David_ was the American Idol the crowd should be cheering for instead of the other way around. David would make sure the crowd gave Cook his due, though, encouraging them to give it up to Cook just as loudly, flailing his arms and hopping around on stage like a dork, and the soft, fond look Cook always gave him afterwards made David glad that he’d done it.  
  
So he’d expected more of the same tonight, even after Cook had detoured to the side of the stage to grab the flowers some fans had given him earlier. What he _hadn’t_ expected was for Cook to drop into his bow and then thrust the flowers under David’s nose.  
  
David fumbled for a second, caught off guard, until Cook raised an eyebrow and pressed the flowers against his chest, making it clear that he wanted David to take them.  
  
The roar of the crowd increased in volume once David had his hands wrapped around the bouquet, this crazy wall of sound, and when David smacked Cook with the flowers they screamed even more, though even that wasn’t enough to drown out Cook’s laughter as he climbed to his feet.  
  
David couldn’t help but feel a little, well, weird. The flowers were a warm weight against his chest, the wrapping a little wrinkled against his fingers, and David could smell their scent, fresh and sweet. He’d gotten flowers before, of course, especially in the last few months, and while he had always considered such a gesture sweet, he’d never really felt like – well, like this, kind of hot under his collar but strangely pleased at the same time. It didn’t help that Cook looked so happy, eyes bright and lips curled into a playful grin as David urged the crowd to scream for him, waving the bouquet above his head. David was always happy when Cook was happy, because Cook’s joy was infectious and his wide grins always brought an answering smile to David’s lips no matter what mood David was in. It was different, though, when David was the source of that happiness. He couldn’t put his finger on _why_ , but putting that expression of joy on Cook’s face, making him laugh, somehow made David just as happy as the surge of screaming fans spread out before them.  
  
When Cook took the flowers back before they left the catwalk, David found his fingers lingering, not quite wanting to let them go. He covered up his reaction with a nervous laugh and headed towards the stairs, not sure what to make of the look on Cook’s face in that moment, and focused on finishing out the show instead.  
  
He was tired and sweaty by the time they all dispersed backstage, everyone heading to the dressing rooms they’d been assigned so they could change into casual clothes before heading out to the barricades. His dad caught up to him before David could follow suit, and though he tried to focus on what his dad was telling him, David couldn’t help but be distracted by the sight of Cook striding after Carly and the others with the flowers tucked against his side.  
  
He ducked into his dressing room a few minutes later, pulling at the knot on his tie to loosen it so he could pull the fabric, slightly damp with sweat, away from his neck. He froze in place as he glanced over the dressing table – the flowers were there, some of the petals looking a little smushed but no less worse for wear, and David’s fingers were trailing over their soft curves before he really even registered moving across the room.  
  
In another moment he was across the hall at Cook’s door, rapping on the wood before he could talk himself out of it. Cook was smiling when he answered the door, but it faltered as he saw the flowers in David’s arms.  
  
“You don’t like them?” Cook asked, the joviality of his tone unable to mask the subtle tightening of his eyes, and David realized with a start that Cook was _nervous_. Nervous because of _him_.  
  
With a swallow, David remembered his own reaction to Cook pressing the flowers into his hands, the way happiness and a hazy sort of heat had settled over him as Cook smiled at him, the way his fingers had clung to the flowers when Cook moved to take them back.  
  
“It’s just that, um, these were meant for you, you know?” he said, warmth blossoming across his cheeks as he pressed the bouquet to Cook’s chest. It was hard to hold Cook’s gaze as he continued, but David did it anyway, knowing it was important that Cook understand. “I’d feel bad if I took them from you.”  
  
David watched as the worry drained from Cook’s face, to be replaced by a sense of awareness that made something like hope swell in David’s chest.  
  
“And if _I_ gave you some?” Cook asked, voice low. David suddenly realized how close they were, standing nearly toe to toe in the doorway of Cook’s dressing room. He could smell Cook’s cologne over the sweetness of the flowers themselves, and the urge to lean in closer for more of that subtle, spicy scent was nearly overwhelming. “Flowers meant just for you, I mean. Would that be okay?”  
  
David knew Cook was asking about more than just a bouquet. “Yeah, Cook,” he answered, shuffling a step closer, his chest and cheeks growing warm at the soft slant of Cook’s smile, the way Cook’s fingers curled over the bouquet and touched his own. “That would be okay.”  
  
  
 **storge; familial love**  
  
Cook woke to a familiar scent in the air, warm and sweet, his lips twitching before he even opened his eyes. A brush of his hand across the mattress confirmed that he was alone in bed, but memories from the night before were enough to deepen his sleepy smile into a fierce grin; he remembered falling into bed with another body wrapped around his, stuttered breaths dissolving into breathless giggles as Cook attached himself to Archie like a limpet, tucking his scruffy chin into the soft dip of Archie’s collarbone and pressing scratchy kisses to his neck and shoulders. With his mother sleeping down the hall, Cook had been reminded of how often he had fantasized about that exact scenario back when he was younger, sneaking a boy into his room under his parent’s noses.  
  
Not that anything had happened except eight blissful hours of uninterrupted sleep, of course. Archie may have been a willing participant in most of Cook’s schemes, but allowing Cook to stick his hands down his pants while Cook’s mother was in the house was not one of them.  
  
Cook rose sleepily from the bed, wondering where his boyfriend had disappeared to and wishing he had been able to start the day with Archie’s body curled around his. It was a luxury that he looked forward to each time that Archie stayed over, the ability to wake up with his arms tucked around the boy’s waist and his cheek pressed to the smooth expanse of Archie’s chest, enjoying the warmth of his skin and the soft huffs of his breath as he slept. Even after months of dating, Cook couldn’t get enough of that closeness, the intimacy of it, the way Archie, who was usually so averse to even casual touch from his closest friends, never failed to lean into Cook’s touch like he was hungry for it.  
  
It was a different sort of hunger that finally drove Cook from bed, and he rubbed at his eyes as he padded down the stairs, following the fantastic scent wafting from the kitchen. As he drew closer he could hear voices, soft laughter and the clink of dishes interspersed with the pad of paws on tile, and he quieted as he poked his head around the doorway, his heart warming at the sight that greeted him.  
  
“Okay, how do these look?” Archie was prodding at a slightly misshapen pancake in a pan on the stove, brows furrowed in concentration. Cook bit his lip as he saw that Archie had donned his _Kiss the Cook_ apron; Cook had crossed out the _the_ with permanent marker ages ago and made a habit of wearing it every time he had Archie over for dinner, to the annoyance of his boyfriend.  
  
“You’re doing great, Archie,” his mother chirped, pulling down plates and glasses from the cabinet to carry to the dining table. “See, you’re a natural in the kitchen.”  
  
Archie laughed, and Cook leaned against the doorway, practically melting at the smile that dimpled his boyfriend’s cheeks. “I don’t know about that,” Archie said, flipping the pancake onto a plate set aside for that purpose and grabbing the bowl of batter to start a new one. “I’m, um, honestly kind of terrible? I think the only thing I can make perfectly is cereal, haha.”  
  
“I’m glad I came when I did then,” Beth laughed, placing a plate of crispy bacon and toast on the table. “I’m surprised you two have survived this long if you’ve been living off of David’s cooking – “  
  
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ma,” Cook piped up, grinning unrepentantly as they both jumped, his mother pressing a startled hand to her chest and narrowing her eyes as he stepped into the kitchen.  
  
“David Roland,” she started, poking him in the chest as he bent to kiss her cheek. “Just for that, you can take us both out to dinner tonight. Your treat.”  
  
“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Ma,” Cook appeased, laughing as she swatted him on the shoulder. He wandered over to the stove, wrapping his arms around Archie’s waist and peering over his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Mornin’, Archie,” he breathed, pressing a kiss to Archie’s cheek. “Nice apron.”  
  
Archie huffed, flipping another golden brown pancake. “I didn’t want to get flour all over my clothes and it was the only apron we had, so.”  
  
Cook grinned. “Uh huh. You know you just have to ask if you want a kiss, right? You don’t have to wear a sign.”  
  
Archie shot Cook his patented ‘you’re ridiculous and I’m ashamed to know you’ look, but said nothing as he flipped the last pancake onto the plate and switched the stove off. “Do these look okay?” he asked, gesturing to the stack, most of which were _vaguely_ circular in shape. “Beth said they did,” he continued, lowering his voice, “but, um, I kind of think she was just trying to make me feel better?”  
  
Cook hummed, tucking his chin over Archie’s shoulder. “It’s not really the look that matters so much as the taste,” he said, squeezing Archie’s waist as he settled in comfortably against the younger man’s back. “Here, I’ll be your guinea pig – “ He opened his mouth, waiting, and tapped his finger against the plate after Archie just stared at him in confusion.  
  
“Oh! Uh, okay – “ Archie broke off a piece and popped it into Cook’s mouth, the tips of his ears reddening as Cook closed his lips around the morsel and the tips of Archie’s fingers in the process.  
  
Cook chewed slowly, savoring the burst of buttery softness and the tang of blueberries on his tongue, sweet and sharp and utterly delicious. He sighed dreamily after he swallowed, slumping against Archie’s shoulder. “Damn, Archie,” he moaned. “Just take me now.”  
  
“ _Cook_ ,” Archie squeaked, shooting a startled glance at Beth. “Don’t _say_ stuff like that – “  
  
“Why not?” Cook asked, grinning, “Are you saying you wouldn’t want to – “  
  
Archie clapped a hand over his mouth. “Ah, ah, ah, stop talking!” He grabbed the plate and wriggled out of Cook’s arms, his, “Here’s the pancakes, Beth!” a little too loud in an attempt to cover up his embarrassment, and Cook shook his head fondly as he trailed behind his boyfriend to the dining table, taking a seat across from his mother with Archie settling on his right.  
  
The sunlight was bright as it streamed through the windows, falling in golden swaths across Cook’s shoulders and warming his skin. Conversation was scattered amidst clinking silverware and Dublin’s excited yips whenever Cook snuck a piece of bacon under the table, and though Cook contributed whenever Archie or his mom asked him something, he was content just to soak in the atmosphere – the warmth of Archie against his side, his mother laughing as they discussed how they were all going to spend her visit, Archie’s bare foot brushing against his own beneath the table –  
  
And above all of that, the certainty that all of it – waking up to a house full of warmth and light and laughter – full of _Archie_ – felt _right_.  
  
And when he saw how his mother was looking at Archie, an unmistakable fondness written across her face that Cook had only ever seen directed at her children, he knew that she felt it too.  
  
  
 **agape; unconditional love**  
  
“So, do I have the best ideas or do I have the best ideas?” Cook asked, nudging their shoulders together. The firelight lit his auburn hair aflame, his hazel eyes flickering golden, and the warmth in David’s chest and belly had nothing to do with the campfire.  
  
“I _guess_ you have some good ones,” David said, lips twitching as Cook pouted at him. He leaned against his boyfriend’s side, slipping his arm through Cook’s, and watched the fire leap and crackle in its circle of stones. “This might have been the best, though,” he conceded, breathing in the scent of pine and dirt and fresh mountain air.  
  
He felt Cook press a kiss to the top of his head and smiled, moving the stick skewering his marshmallow lower over the flames so that it browned.  
  
“You’re not just saying that because I brought chocolate, right?” Cook murmured against his brow, dipping his own marshmallow directly into the fire so that it burned and blackened in moments.  
  
David laughed, releasing Cook’s arm so he could reach for the graham crackers and requisite chocolate. “Oh, definitely,” he said, sandwiching his marshmallow between the two. “Why else do you think I let you bring me out here?”  
  
Cook gave him a wounded look. “You’re spending too much time with me,” he groused, marshmallow smearing on his fingers as he bit into his own s’more. “You’re turning into a tease. Picking up my worst habits, Archuleta. What would your mother think?”  
  
“I thought that was the point of this trip, though – spending time with you,” David said, his tone losing its playful edge, soft with sincerity as he reached up and thumbed the stray crumbs from Cook’s beard. “I’ve missed you.”  
  
“Aww, Archie.” Cook ducked down and pressed a sweet, slightly sticky kiss to his lips. “I’ve missed you, too. Which is _exactly_ why I had to steal you away.” His lips curled into a grin, brushing teasingly against David’s. “Like I said, best idea ever, huh?”  
  
David closed the distance between them in lieu of a response, curling his free hand into Cook’s flannel shirt and touching their lips together again, allowing them to linger this time, tasting a hint of dark chocolate and the familiar taste of Cook himself as their mouths moved softly against one another.  
  
It thrilled David that all he could hear above the soft, wet sounds of their kisses was the crackle of the flames. Absent was the sound of heavy L.A. traffic, the muffled ringing of record execs and music producers clambering for their attention, and the frantic screaming of fans. There was no one and nothing to interrupt their time with each other.  
  
David pulled back with a last soft kiss to Cook’s plump lower lip, drinking in the sight of the older man’s dark eyes, the way happiness had chased all lines of stress from his brow. David wondered if he looked the same, if the deep wells beneath his eyes had been smoothed away by Cook’s touch; already he could feel that the tightness in his shoulders and the knot of anxiety that had taken up residence in his gut for months now had disappeared, and he ached with gratitude for their absence.  
  
“Thank you for doing this,” he murmured, pressing his cheek to Cook’s chest, his s’more falling forgotten to the ground in favor of wrapping his arms around the rocker’s waist. “I, um. I think I really needed this.” It was easier to admit when he wasn’t caught in his boyfriend’s perceptive gaze, and easier still to close his eyes and shut out everything but the softness of Cook’s shirt beneath his cheek, the heat of Cook’s body against his own, and the steady beat of his heart beneath David’s ear.  
  
Cook’s arms wrapped around him, his chest contracting and expanding with a sigh. “I know you did,” he said softly, stroking the line of David’s back, his palm warm even through the thick material of David’s hoodie. “Because I know _you_ , and I know that you’ll work yourself to the bone if it means making everybody else happy, and that sometimes you hate the things we have to do to keep making music, even though you love it too much to ever stop.” He cradled David’s chin in his palm, lifting his head so he could catch David’s gaze, and David ached at the love he saw there, the tenderness and care and affection that Cook had always shown him in a thousand different ways.  
  
“And I also know,” Cook continued, stroking his thumb along David’s cheek, “that I love you, and that I want to see you healthy, and _happy_ , and if that means that I need to steal you away from the world every once in a while, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.” He touched their mouths together in a sweet kiss, and grinned against David’s lips. “Now let’s make some damn s’mores and forget about all of our responsibilities like the badass rockstars we are, okay, Archie?”  
  
“ _Cook_ ,” David laughed shakily, biting his lip to stave off the tears he could feel brimming behind his eyes. He rubbed them away and reached for the marshmallows, tossing the bag to Cook and taking up his stick. For the first time in a long time, he felt light and unburdened by all the worries that usually weighed him down. The world of hectic schedules, grueling hours and a million prying eyes was far away, and the only thing that mattered was how many marshmallows they could save from falling into the fire.  
  
That night, the starlit sky was their only companion. Wrapped in Cook’s arms, his head pillowed on the rocker’s chest beneath the warmth of their shared sleeping bags, David reflected that really, that was all they needed.  
  
  
 **eros; sexual love**  
  
As much as Cook lived and breathed for his music, as much as he would love to share it with the world for the rest of his life, he would give it all up if it meant he could just keep _this_ , Archie warm and pliant and hungry in their bed, his skin hot to the touch, slick with a fine sheen of sweat as they wrapped themselves around each other.  
  
God, he would never get used to this, never not be in awe each time Archie reached for him like this, hungered for him like this, because he _did_ , Christ, there was nothing like it, nothing more exhilarating than the knowledge – the _evidence_ – that Archie wanted him, the way he grew desperate for Cook’s touch, Cook’s lips, Cook’s cock, the way he grew desperate to touch Cook in return.  
  
Because as introverted as Archie was, as big as his personal bubble might have been, he was so damn _tactile_ , so endlessly devoted to mapping Cook’s entire body with his hands and mouth and tongue, so attuned to every shiver and moan and stuttered breath from his lover, as though Cook were a song he could devote hours to, committing to mind every intricacy and intimate detail with a fervor that spoke more of his love than words ever could.  
  
“ _Cook_ ,” Archie moaned, voice high and breathy, sounding like a damn song himself. His splayed thighs wrapped tightly around Cook’s hips, his hands clutching at Cook’s shoulders, stroking down the line of his back and leaving trails of fire in their wake. “Please, oh gosh, _please_ – “  
  
Cook’s hips stuttered, breath coming in pants as he reached between them and wrapped his hand around them both. Archie tossed his head back, keening at the grasp of Cook’s fingers, their slippery cockheads rubbing against each other, copious amounts of precome slicking the way.  
  
It was heat and breath and skin, hungry, biting kisses pressed to Archie’s heaving chest and open, panting mouth, the clutch of warm thighs and the ache of arousal in the pit of Cook’s belly as Archie’s body arched against his.  
  
It was breathy exhalations of each other’s names, whispered pleas for more, harder, please, _I’m so close_ –  
  
And it was _falling_ , too, bodies locked together as their pleasure finally reached its peak, Archie releasing a choked off whine as he came, his heels digging into Cook’s fleshy thighs as his body grew taut. The sight of his lover caught in the throes of his climax sent Cook tumbling over the edge himself, releasing with a hoarse shout of completion as his orgasm crashed over him. He continued to stroke them both through the aftershocks, smearing their mingled fluids down the length of their softening cocks until sensitivity forced him to withdraw and fall in exhausted relief onto his forearms, struggling to catch his breath even as he pushed his fingers through Archie’s hair and pulled him into a kiss.  
  
Archie hummed against his mouth and curled his fingers against Cook’s shoulders, their movements slow and unhurried now that their passion had been spent. Cook could feel sleep pulling at his limbs, could sense its hold on Archie in the sluggish glide of his boyfriend’s hands across the expanse of his back, though he was loathe to release the younger man’s lips, even as the pressing need for clean up became more apparent the longer their bellies remained pressed together.  
  
But Archie seemed content to remain as they were, sighing Cook’s name in-between soft, lingering kisses, and there was nothing that could tempt Cook away from his embrace.  
  
  
 **pragma; enduring love**  
  
David felt the crowd’s excitement in the core of his chest and the base of his spine, his body thrumming in time with the music pouring from the men on stage. His voice joined the multitude of others, singing along to the lyrics they all knew by heart, lyrics that David had only been able to keep in his memories while he was gone, close at hand for those moments when his heart grew weary and he ached for home.  
  
Cook was _brilliant_ on that stage, his smile fierce and happy as he bantered with the crowd, telling them all how much he loved their state, relishing in the way they screamed for him, returning the sentiment tenfold. David’s voice rose above the throng as he cheered along with them, catching Cook’s eye and grinning as Cook ducked his head, a secretive smile on his lips.  
  
David’s heart squeezed as the band launched into the next song, the familiar lyrics washing over him, unleashing memories from another time. Standing there, watching the stage lights play over Cook’s broad shoulders, the familiar sweep of his brow and the curves of his scruffy cheeks, all unchanged even after two years, David was reminded of the first time Cook had ever played this song for him, reminded of the countless shows he’d been to since then, tucked safely away from prying eyes as he watched Cook’s set, knowing – as he knew now – that he would be waiting for Cook afterwards.  
  
And he was reminded of the time that had passed, too, in the hint of gray in Cook’s beard and at his temples, the new lines around his eyes. Staring at that evidence, David felt the passage of the last two years so keenly that he had to blink back tears, and it was like a beacon to Cook. His eyes caught and held on David in the midst of the crowd, and they _shone_ as he sang, “ _You’re my inspiration as I stand alone against the world_ ,” holding their eye contact until David had to be the one to duck his head, his heart pounding and his face warm enough that he knew he was blushing.  
  
And just like that, any lingering ache he felt at the evidence of how much had changed during their separation was obliterated in the wake of everything that _hadn’t_. Cook’s eyes as they settled on David were just as telling as they always were, like he’d never grown out of the habit of wearing his heart on his sleeve, and there was no disguising the affection on Cook’s face each time he brought David up in front of the crowd.  
  
And when Cook finally called him out on stage, encouraging all of Sandy to welcome him home, not even fear could keep David from the rocker’s side. There was no place he would rather be.


End file.
